


he meets me where i am

by rire



Series: st. petersburg's favourite family of three [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Happy Ending, Healthy Communication, M/M, Post-Canon, Temporary Amnesia, but he loves them, yurio is tired of their shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9257756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rire/pseuds/rire
Summary: Something gold catches the light, drawing his attention. There’s a gold ring on Victor’s ring finger. “Ah,” Yuuri says, his heart giving a last squeeze, a futile reminder of the silly crush he once had. “Congratulations on your marriage,” he says, as cheerily as he can.In which Yuuri gets into an accident that wipes his memory of everything that happened after his first Grand Prix, Yurio and Victor help him retrace his journey, and Yuuri rediscovers himself along the way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this idea hit me as soon as i woke up this morning, and instead of finishing my pile of victuuri wips, i wrote this entire thing in one sitting bc i love to die, i guess. so yes, there's angst, but hopefully the fluff makes up for it; i didn't know how much i needed to fill the gaps that ep 12 left in my heart until i'd finished writing this.
> 
> the fic begins in st. petersburg after episode 12; yuuri's memories end on the day of the grand prix, after his loss but before the banquet.

A heavy head. A strange voice. A strange feeling. Like he’s been submerged in water. 

“His life isn’t in danger, and he’ll be back to full health in a week or two. He has a minor concussion, and needs lots of rest. His memory may also have been affected. You may visit, but don’t expose him to loud noises or anything that might agitate him.”

Yuuri’s eyes blink blearily open. The fluorescent lights above him swim briefly. He turns his head, which feels sluggish, and sees a face he’s very familiar with. Ah, Victor Nikiforov. He’s dreamed of Victor many times. He likes this dream already.

He turns the other way, looking around the room, and registers the fact that he is in what appears to be a hospital room.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, startlingly clear and real. It’s only then that Yuuri’s mind becomes fully lucid, and he sits up straight as a rod. Not a single dream could have prepared Yuuri for waking up in a hospital bed with his childhood idol, Victor Nikiforov, by his bedside. “Yuuri, you’re awake?”

“...Victor?”

Victor’s shoulders sag with relief, his face lighting up with joy. “Yuuri,” he says, voice breaking as he takes Yuuri’s hand and clasps it. “You’re okay. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Flustered, Yuuri jerks his hand away. He’s pretty sure his face is the exact shade of a tomato. The expression of happiness is wiped clean off Victor’s face, and his face becomes instead a canvas of horror. 

“Um… sorry,” Yuuri says hurriedly, though really  _ he  _ should be the horrified one. 

Victor doesn’t respond. He stops moving, still as a statue. 

“Um…” Yuuri tries again. “Why are you here? This is a dream, isn’t it?” He pinches himself, and it hurts. So… not a dream, then. “A-am I going to die? Ah… this is one of those Make-A-Wish things.” Had Yuuri known, he would’ve used his wish on bringing more tourists to Hasetsu. His silly parents shouldn’t have honoured such a childish dream of his. It’s not like there was any point in inviting Victor Nikiforov, living legend, five time Grand Prix champion, to be at his bedside. His heart plummets to his stomach as it hits him that he wasted his first and last chance at the Grand Prix Final. He had never admitted it to anyone, not even himself, but he had really wanted to win gold— ha, not that that was a possibility, with Victor on the same playing field. He was just being ridiculous. And now, he’d never have the chance to skate again.

Victor shakes his head. There was a hard look in his eyes. “You aren’t going to die, Yuuri.” His voice sounded strained, a bit wobbly. “You’re fine.”

“Oh, is that so,” says Yuuri. “I’m glad.” A wave of relief floods through him, muddied only by the fact that it would still be a while before he could skate again. Does he even want to skate again, after such a humiliating failure? He decides to put those thoughts on the backburner momentarily in order to figure out the mystery that is Victor Nikiforov, sitting right in front of him. 

Victor looks absolutely exhausted. His hair is dishevelled, and there’s a slight crease on his left cheek, as if he had been sleeping on a wrinkled surface. There are bags sunken in under his eyes, from which the sparkle that Yuuri remembers is absent. He looks… lost, eyes travelling to Yuuri, then darting away, looking around the room as if for an answer that he can’t find. But even so, he is just as strikingly beautiful as he ever was on TV. Yuuri has to resist the urge to reach out and touch, to confirm the reality of the situation.

It’s then that something gold catches the light, drawing his attention. There’s a gold ring on Victor’s ring finger. “Ah,” Yuuri says, his heart giving a last squeeze, a futile reminder of the silly crush he once had. “Congratulations on your marriage,” he says, as cheerily as he can.

Victor’s face crumples, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His entire body starts to shake as he brings his hand up to cover his mouth. Yuuri can only stare in bewildered shock. 

“I’m sorry,” he says hurriedly, arms floundering about. “Did something happen to your…? Oh— oh no, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.” God, this first meeting with his idol is going as wrong as it possibly can. And he still doesn’t know why Victor is here.

“My fiancé,” Victor says, with a wet sort-of laugh. “He was in an accident,” he says, after a long moment. 

“Ah,” says Yuuri. “I’m sorry.” This comes as quite a startling revelation to him. He didn’t know Victor was interested in men. Dryly, he thinks that his younger self, the one who doodled ‘Yuuri Nikiforov’ obsessively in the margins of every notebook, would’ve had a field day with this. Not that, you know, a romantic relationship with Victor was even a possibility, regardless of his sexual orientation. 

“Um… You don’t have to be here,” Yuuri says. Maybe this is why Victor is sad. Maybe his fiancé was in the same accident as Yuuri. “Really. I’m okay. I should probably call my parents to let them know—”

The door slams open. “Oi, katsudon,” says a grinning, blond-haired male that Yuuri recognizes and is surprised to see. “You’re awake.” He turns to Victor. “Why are you crying? That’s gross.”

“Katsudon?” Yuuri says. “Are you talking to me?”

The boy’s face falters. He looks to Victor, then back to Yuuri. “They were right,” he says, in a hollow voice. “You really don’t remember.”

“Remember what? I know who you are,” Yuuri says. “Yuri Plisetsky, in the Junior division. You yelled at me in the toilets and told me to retire.”

Yuri’s eyes go wide, and then he looks away, almost— pained. He clenches his fists, and his jaw. 

“Victor,” Yuri says to the floor. “You haven’t told him?”

Victor doesn’t answer.

“Um,” Yuuri swallows hard. Normally, he’d hesitate to interrupt such an emotionally-charged moment, but he’s had enough of waiting. “Can somebody explain what’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” The other Yuri’s voice grows strangely high-pitched. “What’s going on is that—”

“Yurio, don’t—”

“You lost your memory of the past year,” Yuri says, his eyes like fire. “After you lost the Grand Prix, Victor took a break from skating to become your coach. You fell in love or something, and promised to get married once you won gold. I won gold. You won silver. Victor decided to come back to competitive skating and you decided to keep going with him. You moved here to St. Petersburg to live with him and train with us, and then you got into an accident that landed you here!” 

A brick lodges itself in Yuuri’s throat. The whole room sways off-kilter. His heart pounds in his ears. He looks to Victor, looks at the gold ring on Victor’s finger. Victor doesn’t look at him.

“No way,” Yuuri chokes out. 

At that point the nurse comes by, and tells the visitors to leave because they’re causing a disturbance. 

“I’ll go,” says the other Yuri, and points to Victor. “I was the one being loud. Let him stay.” 

But the nurse doesn’t listen, and so Yuuri is left alone. The nurse injects him with something that makes his eyelids feel like lead, and he drops into a bottomless pit of sleep. 

 

-

 

In the middle of the night, Yuuri wakes up to noises outside the door— 

“So you just weren’t going to tell him? Are you  _ stupid? _ ”

“I don’t want to agitate him.” A pause. “It might be better if he doesn’t remember.”

“You’re disgusting. Throwing away both your happiness and his? You call that selflessness?”

“Yurio—”

“He’s not going to retire. And neither are you. I don’t care what happened between you two before the accident, I’ll never forgive you if you both retire because of some stupid—”

_ “Yuri.” _

“Fine. If you’re not going to make him remember, then  _ I  _ will.”

Yuuri falls back asleep before he can make any sense of it. 

 

-

 

The next day, Yuri Plisetsky storms into his hospital room and throws a magazine at him. It lands right on his lap. For a split second, Yuuri sees not a magazine, but a paper bag, and the taste of katsudon and piroshki lingers on his tongue, two foods that have nothing to do with one another. He doesn’t understand, so he ignores it.

“Hi, Yuri,” Yuuri says with a half-wave. “Is this for me?”

“Yurio,” he says. “Call me Yurio.” His face turns red in blotches. 

“Okay,” says Yuuri, more than a little confused. “Sorry… Yurio.”

“Read it,” says Yurio. “Hurry up and read it so you can come back to the ice.”

Yuuri picks it up. It’s opened to a two-page spread of Victor and what appears to be Yuuri himself. Victor is wearing the outfit he wore at the Grand Prix, stunning, sparkling magenta. Yuuri himself is in the same outfit, but it’s a royal blue. Had it not been for his name clearly written across the page, Yuuri would not have recognized himself— this man might as well have been a stranger. He barely recognizes the look on his and Victor’s faces, a look of what can only be called uninhibited adoration. It makes his breath catch in his throat.

“We… pair skated,” Yuuri says, rather dumbfounded.

“Yeah,” says Yurio. He shoves his hands into his pockets, and scowls. “You guys kissed on the ice. Victor announced his comeback and you announced that you were moving to Russia. Mila cried. Georgi bawled. It was gross.”

“This sounds like the plot of a fanfiction,” Yuuri mumbles to himself.

“What?”

“N-nothing.” Yuuri chuckles sheepishly.

Yurio huffs. “Hey,” he says after a while. “You don’t feel anything when you look at him? Victor, I mean.”

“I don’t know.” He does, oh, he does. Just looking at Victor makes his heart stir and squeeze painfully. Breathing becomes difficult. He’d wondered briefly if someone had forged this magazine, if all of this was simply an elaborate prank. But the feeling in his chest says otherwise. He knows this, for sure: he wants it to be true. He wants to be as confident as he seems in this photo. He wants Victor to look at him the way he did in this photo. And then realizes that Victor had, the moment he first awoke. Everything is only confirming what Yurio had first told him. And yet, looking down at the page, all he can pinpoint is a vague feeling— the concrete memories escape his grasp like quicksand. It is absolutely frustrating.

Maybe it’s a good thing Victor hasn’t visited since he first woke up. Yuuri doesn’t know how he’d react. Victor had seemed so tired. Yuuri was glad, at the very least, that he was getting some rest.

Yurio rummages around in his bag and pulls something out of it. A brown paper bag, slightly crumpled and smelling delicious. He throws it at Yuuri, and it lands right on his lap. “Eat it.”

“Oh! Katsudon piroshki,” Yuuri says, grinning. “Thank you, Yurio.”

“Yeah, my grandpa taught me how to make them—” Yurio freezes. “How did you know what was in the bag?”

Yuuri freezes, too. “Ah, I just had a feeling,” he explains. So the earlier vision had not just been a hallucination. His head hurts. He’s suddenly overcome by the urge to push Yurio away. “Sorry, but… can you leave?” he says, voice small. “I think I want to be alone.”

“No,” says Yurio. “I’m not going anywhere until you remember everything and Victor stops moping, so that I can kick both your asses fair and square on the ice.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says. He opens the bag and eats. The taste of heaven on his tastebuds works wonders, melting away all other emotions.

“Vkusno,” he says with a smile. When he looks up, Yurio is beaming from ear to ear.

“Ha!” he calls out the door, as if speaking to someone who was out in the hallway. “In your face, Victor Nikiforov. I told you it would work.”

Before Yuuri can process this fact, the nurse comes by and chastises Yurio. “If you continue to make a racket, we’re going to revoke your visitor rights.” 

 

-

 

A few days pass. He speaks on the phone with his parents every day. Mila, Georgi, and even Yakov come to visit. Yuuri welcomes their stories and their company, even if Yakov just seems like a third, much more irritated parent. Still, Yuuri can’t help but feel somewhat undeserving of it all. He doesn’t really know them, has never spoken to them in person, and yet, right before Yakov leaves, Yuuri is overcome by the urge to hug him, and whisper,  _ “Spasibo.” _

 

-

 

At night, outside the doors:

“I told you, it’s working. Stop sitting outside his room like this, it’s pathetic. Grow a pair and  _ visit  _ him already.”

“I can’t.”

The sound of a collar being grabbed. “Did you fucking forget what you said? You said he was the love of your life. Are you just going to let him go? Tch. I was right all along— Victor Nikiforov is dead. The Victor I knew would never have given up like this.”

Footsteps, stomping away.

 

-

 

The next morning, Yuuri is greeted by the sight of a cheerful Victor.

“Good morning, Yuuri,” he says in a singsong voice. His face looks like someone trying on a smile for the first time. “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning, Victor,” Yuuri says. “Only Aeroflot has kept me waiting as long as you have.”

It just slips out. Victor’s eyes go wide like saucers. Suddenly, the smile he’d been trying on for size doubles— no,  _ triples _ — in size. And then his arms are around Yuuri, in a firm yet gentle embrace. The warmth of Victor’s body makes Yuuri’s go pliant, and he melts in Victor’s arms. 

“Yuuri.” Victor’s voice is so, so warm. He pulls back, and the sparkle in his eyes is back. “I want to help you remember everything. I want you to remember us. Will you let me?”

Looking into Victor’s eyes, Yuuri realizes he never had a choice. He wonders if it was like this, too, when he first fell for Victor. “Okay,” he says, breathless.

 

-

 

One of the first things he remembers also happens to be one of the worst possible things to remember. Victor is sitting next to him in the bed, and they’ve each got an earbud in, just listening to music together. When a certain song comes on, Yuuri immediately jolts and sits upright. He’d danced to this music. At a party— no, a banquet. Not only  _ danced,  _ but— 

“Oh my God,” he says, burying his face in his hands.

“Yuuri!” Victor’s eyes sparkle. “You remember?”

“No,” Yuuri groans. “Nooooooo. As far as I am concerned, this never happened.”

“But Yuuri,” Victor says, sneaking an arm around his waist. His voice in Yuuri’s ear makes him shiver. “You were  _ so sexy.  _ Drop dead gorgeous. I fell in love with the way you moved your body.”

“C-can I choose a different memory, please?”

Victor pouts. Yuuri can see, though, that there’s genuine hurt in his eyes. “You don’t want to remember our night together?”

“No, no, no.” Yuuri waves his hands frantically. “It’s not like that! I had fun. I really did. I just— man, of all the ways to make an impression on your childhood idol! I’m never drinking again.”

“But you know, Yuuri,” Victor says slowly. There’s a dreamy look in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

 

-

 

When he gets out of the hospital, Victor takes him to the ocean. The cool breeze caresses Victor’s hair and the sun strikes his jawline, illuminating it just so. The world has always seemed to unfold around him.

Victor rubs circles on the back of Yuuri’s hand. “Doesn’t this remind you of Hasetsu?” he says with a smile. And it does. Everything, from the calm waters, to the sound of seagulls, to Victor’s presence beside him, is achingly familiar. For a moment, a scene flashes before his mind, the two of them sitting by the ocean. He had admitted to Victor that he always felt he was fighting alone, and Victor had told him that he was not weak, and that nobody ever thought he was weak. 

_ When I open up, he meets me where I am. _

When he comes to again, Victor is looking at him, concerned, hopeful.

Yuuri smiles playfully. “Were you mad?”

“Huh?”

“When I told you I didn’t want you to be my boyfriend.”

Victor laughs, the sound ringing like bells. His eyes tear up a little. “I was a little bit upset,” he admits. “But then you declared your love for me on national television, so it was okay in the end. Ah, except for your tie.” He smiles cheekily. “I still think you should burn it.”

“What I meant back then,” Yuuri explains, “was that I didn’t want you to change yourself to fit what I expected of you.” His heart is pounding fast. “I still don’t. I want you to be true to who you are.”

Victor’s eyes go soft when he smiles. Yuuri wonders how he could ever have doubted that he was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with this man. “I know, Yuuri,” he says, squeezing Yuuri’s hand in his own. “In return, I want you to be true to yourself, too,” he tells Yuuri, voice full to the brim with emotion. “When you said you wanted to win gold, it was one of the proudest moments of my life.” He smiles. “So don’t keep your thoughts to yourself anymore, okay?”

Yuuri blushes. After a moment, he says, “There was nothing wrong with my tie. Or my suit. I liked that outfit, you know.”

 

-

 

He remembers the Yuri on Ice routine.

He sneaks into the rink late at night, a little while before he’s officially allowed to resume skating. It’s startling when he skates the routine almost flawlessly. His body steps, twists, turns, and jumps of its own accord, the music playing in his mind. There’s none of that nervous energy and amateurish tumbling he remembers from the Grand Prix. He finishes the routine, but it feels a little incomplete, like he might’ve changed the jump composition since its conception.

For a reason unbeknownst to him, he keeps this a secret from Victor.

 

-

 

Over the next few days, Yuuri picks up more and more memories that fit together like puzzle pieces. He feels like he has the big picture, even though there’s still something missing. Nevertheless, he starts to train with Victor and Yurio again, not really doing any routines, but rather repeating the basic jumps many times. He loves how it feels to ground himself in physical movements and the familiar sound of skates slicing across the ice. Victor had been his coach, he remembers now, but surprisingly, Victor doesn’t offer Yuuri much commentary. Sometimes, it looks as though he wants to say something, but then thinks better of it, and then goes off to do his own thing. Yuuri takes a water break and watches Victor skate. His movements are just as fluid and just as enchanting as Yuuri remembers.

Suddenly, an inexplicable feeling of pain comes over him. His head pounds, throbs. Voices— voices from the past— begin to shout in his mind.

“You can’t do this to me again, Yuuri,” Victor pleads, gripping Yuuri’s wrist so tightly it’d hurt. “I thought we were past this. I thought you were done with being selfish.”

“Selfish,” Yuuri repeats dryly. “I always wondered why you called it that when I obviously wasn’t. Now I get it. You’re the selfish one. You just want to accomplish everything—”

_ “I am not giving up on being your coach,”  _ Victor insists, eyes hard as steel. “This is what I want, Yuuri.”

“Why don’t you get it?” Yuuri exclaims, throwing his hands up and finally breaking out of Victor’s hold. “You should be focusing on your own routine instead of mine. We’re competitors now, Victor. All I’m doing is holding you back.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that that’s not true before it sinks in?” Victor says, completely bewildered. “You’re just like everyone else.” He shakes his head bitterly, blinking back tears. “Telling me to compete because it’s what you expect me to do. Haven’t you ever put yourself in my shoes, and thought for even a second that maybe you’re more important to me than—”

“I can’t do this,” Yuuri says, stumbling back. “I need to go. I need to clear my head.” 

He turns away, bolts out the door. Down the street. He doesn’t quite know where he is, not yet familiar enough with St. Petersburg, but he just keeps running. He loves Victor. He doesn’t want Victor to throw away his future in skating for him. He understands that Victor is staying on as his coach because Victor loves him too, but after all this time it is still so painstakingly hard to accept that he is worth the sacrifice. When you look down on yourself all your life, it’s hard to change that, even when someone looks at you like you are their whole world. 

Especially when that person is your whole world.

They say your life flashes before your eyes right when you think you’re about to die. It’s really something, then, that Victor is the only thing that flashes before his eyes when the car collides with him and everything goes black.

 

-

 

When he snaps back to his senses, he’s on the ground. The cold feeling of ice seeps into his skin through the thin fabric of his clothes. 

“Oi, Yuuri,” Yurio says, hovering above him. “Are you okay?” He looks over his shoulder and beckons Victor over. Victor—  _ Victor.  _

“I have to go,” Yuuri says, and then wants to punch himself, because that instinct to flee, to deal with everything on his own, was exactly what had led him to this situation.  _ “So don’t keep your thoughts to yourself anymore, okay?”  _ Victor had asked that of him. And yeah, he’s done with it. He’s tired of beating himself up. He and Victor have not come all this way for nothing. It is about damn time they sat down and had some healthy communication, and if it takes a car crash and a dose of amnesia for him to learn that, then so be it. 

“You have to go? Go where?” Yurio says.

“Victor,” Yuuri says, getting to his feet. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

 

-

 

They go to a spot in the shade of some trees near the rink. Yuuri wrings his hands together, then forces himself to stand up straight and look Victor in the eye.

“I remembered everything,” he says, and watches Victor’s face fall. “And before you say anything, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

Victor shakes his head. “Yuuri, I’m not angry,” he says. “I’m only angry with myself. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“No, listen,” Yuuri says, reaching out and touching Victor’s arm. “I shouldn’t have asked you to step down as my coach. I need you, Victor. You know that already.” His voice trembles. “But I always felt that I was holding you back from your full potential. I know— I know that’s not true. I know that you’re happy when you’re with me, and that this is what you want. It’s just hard for me to really wrap my head around it. I’m sorry I lashed out at you.”

A tear rolls down Victor’s cheek.

“Oh no,” Yuuri says miserably. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” He reaches out, and this time instead of brushing Victor’s bangs aside, he brushes Victor’s tears away. 

Victor catches Yuuri’s hand in his own, and brings it up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice shaky. “I’m sorry that I told you you were just like everyone else. I was angry. I know that it’s not true.”

“I know,” Yuuri says.

“I know it’s hard for you,” Victor says. “I don’t have a lot of experience in dealing with that sort of thing. I’ve been at the top all my life. I’m used to changing myself to fit what others think when they see me. But I’ve never had anyone look at me the way you do. I’ve never had someone give me strength the way you do.” He breathes out. Yuuri holds his breath. “I don’t doubt my decision, and I’ve never viewed it as throwing away my career, because I’m not losing anything— I’m only gaining everything I never knew I could have. You’ve taught me everything I never knew, and it’s only fair that I teach you what I can in return.” 

And then Victor smiles, and even though his eyes are wet it is so warm and beautiful that Yuuri forgets to breathe. “I love you, Yuuri. I love you so much, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

It’s Yuuri’s turn to cry, now, the tears flowing from his eyes like waterfalls. He presses himself into Victor just as Victor tugs him close, and they hold each other like that, wordlessly, listening to each other’s heartbeats.

“I love you too,” he says into Victor’s shoulder.

Then he hears bushes rustle in the background. 

“It’s about fucking time,” Yurio grumbles.

“Yurio,” Victor laughs wetly. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to eavesdrop? I thought we raised you better than this. Didn’t we, Yuuri?”

Yuuri laughs, too. He can’t help himself. “It looks like we need to step up our parenting game,” he says.

“You’re not my dads,” Yurio says, and sticks his tongue out as he trudges away.

 

-

 

It’s late when they go back to the rink, and no one else is there.

“There’s something else I have to tell you,” Yuuri says. “Well, something I have to  _ show  _ you.”

“Oh?” Victor’s eyes twinkle. “Impress me.”

Yuuri looks Victor in the eye and smiles. “I will. Don’t take your eyes off me.”

He presses  _ play,  _ and skates into position. The music starts, and he falls into the routine he knows by heart, watching with pride as Victor’s eyes go wide. He lets the music, and the love, course through his body, carrying him through the program, skating with as much emotion as he can possibly pour into his movements. He tells Victor—  _ I remember. And I’m never letting you go.  _ He nails it all, just like the way he skated at the Grand Prix Final, and at the end, he lands his quadruple flip with absolute perfection, just the way Victor had taught him, and Victor’s eyes glisten with tears that overflow as Yuuri ends the routine, reaching a hand out to him.

“You’ve been keeping this a secret, haven’t you?” Victor says with a chuckle as Yuuri tumbles into his arms.

“Yes,” says Yuuri helplessly. 

“Just as beautiful,” Victor says, “as it always was.”

“Not more?” Yuuri teases.

“More,” Victor agrees. “Always more. I’ll never stop falling more and more in love with you.”

“Well,” Yuuri says, pressing a finger to Victor’s chest, “you’re going to have to choreograph me something even better this time. And then choreograph  _ yourself _ something even better, and then beat me to gold, aren’t you?”

Victor kisses him, with all the passion that he displays on the ice and more, just the way Yuuri likes it.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is much appreciated!  
> i'm still suffering from yoi withdrawal, so if you are too, please come cry with me on my twitter: [redbeantofu](http://twitter.com/redbeantofu)  
> or my tumblr: [toumaki](http://toumaki.tumblr.com) (though i'm much more active on twitter)


End file.
